


oh my weary soul

by Caisar



Series: asscreedevents 2018 [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tumblr: asscreedevents, commemoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caisar/pseuds/Caisar
Summary: Rebecca comes across Desmond's hoodie in a thrift shop.





	oh my weary soul

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh. Remember when I said I wouldn't post something canon compliant again? Yeah. Turns out 5 a.m. Cai has other ideas.
> 
> Written for asscreedevents day 7 prompt: commemoration. Also written for the anon who asked for Rebecca/Shaun on Tumblr. Figures that my first work for this pairing is Desmond angst. (Sorry.)
> 
> This is meant to fall somewhere in Syndicate timeline, but no spoilers, seeing as I've never played it.

It’s nearly midnight when she finally stumbles into the safehouse, so close to crashing where she’s standing that that it’s too silent doesn’t even register until she catches sight of the organized mess of Shaun’s desk with all the screens on, Shaun nowhere in sight.

Unwilling to call out on the off chance that Shaun managed to sleep at a reasonable hour for once, she first checks the kitchenette and the bathroom, then moves to the room down the hall. The door gives way easily when she pushes it with her fingertips, barely closed.

He’s sitting on the makeshift bed like he fell on it, the hoodie resting stretched on his lap, his face—

God, his _face_.

“I was looking for the files from yesterday,” he rasps, running his thumb back and forth on the fabric. Back and forth. Back and forth. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

She puts down her backpack and crosses the room, lowering herself next to him on the bed. His hand is shaking under hers; a slight, barely noticeable tremor, but there just the same.

That right there—the whole sight—was exactly why she didn’t want to show it to him right away. Should’ve guessed he would find it anyway, though; stumbling upon things is basically his specialty.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t his,” he says, just this side of a question.

She shakes her head. “It’s too big.” Lacks that odd patch inside one of the pockets, too, where Desmond had “fixed” a tear before. Never thought she’d find herself grateful for it.

Then again, she’d never thought many things. It never stopped them from happening.

“I thought so,” he says; the opposite of what the line of his shoulders do. He clears his throat and straightens up, finally looking over with too big eyes. “Where’d you find it?”

“Thrift shop downtown. I fought a teenager for it.”

He laughs; a pitiful, wet sound, but after so long without even that much, it’s enough for her lips to curl, too.

“I had to get it,” she mumbles, running a finger down the red lining. She needed to have _something_. At least she still has a scarf of Lucy’s—Desmond? Thanks to Abstergo, they have nothing— _nothing_ —to remember him by.

Except for the world still standing around them. Most days, it’s not enough; not even close.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in, resting his head on hers.

“I miss them, too,” is all he says, soft as the kiss he puts on her hair. She closes her eyes and lets herself, just for a moment, imagine that nothing can touch them. That the worst had come to pass. That the only way is up from here.

There’s no chime of e-mail or beep of pager to distract her from the fantasy, which makes things only worse.

He sighs. “We need to put this elsewhere. If something happens…”

And they have to leave in a hurry… “I'll put it in the van,” she agrees. “Later.”

“Later.”


End file.
